Trust
by Aerial312
Summary: Tag to "The Missionary Position". Set mid-episode. Tony and Ziva chat after the MTAC video conference and his chat on the balcony with Castro.


Castro closed the door to the bedroom behind Tony as he exited with an armful of pillows and a blanket. His destination was the pullout couch. Despite his earlier teasing about them all sharing that bed, when they came in from the balcony he had insisted that Castro take the bedroom. She was exhausted, and the least accustomed to this type of stress.

He wasn't sure where—or if- Ziva would choose to sleep when she came back upstairs. She had gone downstairs with Monique to talk, as the older woman was leaving them for the night. Ziva had been pretty pissed off at him for voicing his distrust during their video conference with MTAC, but he didn't care. She would get over it when she saw realized he was right. That was his job, to tell Gibbs the truth as he saw it. And Gibbs was clearly thinking the same thing. Monique was hiding something from them, and it didn't seem like Ziva was in the loop either, though she wasn't ready to see it yet.

He opened the couch. It wasn't as bad as he feared. A little dingy, but not gross and nothing crawling, so he tossed the pillows on top and sat down. He pulled his Sig from his holster and tucked it under his pillow. That was a wise habit he'd picked up from his partner in dangerous situations. Flicking the lamp off, he lay back, fully clothed right down to his boots. He hadn't bothered with the sheets-didn't see the point. He curled on his side facing the door, pulling the blanket partway over his legs.

It was late. It had been a long day, and he was tired. Hopefully Ziva would be back up soon. She could be angry at him all she wanted to be, as long as he knew she was safely up in the room. It was maybe 10, 15 minutes of staring at the door through drooping lids later when he heard the key in the lock. A quick glance told him it was Ziva—and only Ziva. He closed his eyes, listening as she quietly walked into the room. The bedroom door creaked open, and he thought for a moment that she had chosen to share _that_ bed with the chaplain instead. But the door closed, quietly, and she returned to the outer room, crossing to sit on the far side of the bed. He'd left her the spot closest to the door, which he knew she preferred.

Ziva slid her gun under her pillow, and lay down, yanking the blanket off Tony to cover herself. Apparently she was still mad at him. But she didn't have her back to him, she was facing him. A few minutes passed in silence. Tony was about to drift off, though he could tell Ziva wasn't asleep.

"She is not telling me everything."

Tony's eyes snapped open. She obviously could tell he wasn't sleeping either.

"You saw that earlier," she continued.

He nodded. "So did you. Right? At lunch, you could tell. I saw how you were studying her—seeing that pieces of her story didn't quite add up." Ziva didn't say anything. "You just don't want to believe it."

Ziva sighed, pulling her knees up, unconsciously forming a barrier between them. "I do not think she has lied to us," she told him.

"But she's sure as hell not telling us everything she knows about this case," he insisted, tugging back part of the blanket.

"No, she's not," Ziva admitted. She leaned in and yanked the back. He shook his head and inched in, pulling it over himself while leaving it on her as well. They were close enough now that her shins were pressed to his chest.

"Is this the only blanket?" she growled.

"It is."

She curled a little bit closer with a loud sigh. He tucked his knees around hers, and the blanket was now covering both of them, but just barely.

"Crappy hotel," he laughed, resting his arm on her calf. "And not as safe as we thought."

Ziva was quiet, her eyes closed, her face a mere foot away from his, and he studied her in the dark. There was a deep scowl still set into her mouth, and her brow furrowed in thought. He hated to see her like this, but he was pretty sure he couldn't find the right words to make her feel better right now—those words probably didn't exist. Her dear friend's deception was weighing heavily on her, and he knew from experience that trust was one of those things Ziva David valued most strongly.

"I hate being lied to!" she said after a long silence. "Why is she not telling me what she knows?"

Tony noted the use of _me_, not _us_, but didn't comment on it.

"We were so close in Costa Rica after not seeing each other for several years. And that was only six months ago," she continued, "and now…" She shook her head.

"Now what?" Tony asked.

"And now it is like we are just meeting again, for the first time, and she is keeping things until she feels I am ready for them."

"Is that what she did before?" he asked, carefully.

"Briefly. At first. I was very young," Ziva explained. "But she quickly learned she could trust me. And she always has-"

"Until now."

"Yes," she answered, looking at him curiously. "She trusts me, and I trust you, so she should trust you…"

He saw where this line of thought was going. "You think she is keeping you in the dark because of Castro and I? The dead weight you called us—"

"I should not have used that term, fine," she cut him off. "but yes, that could be it."

"That's not good."

"I know that!" She rolled over onto her back, flopping her head back on the pillow in frustration. Two deep breaths later, she more calmly asked, "What do we do about it?"

He was glad to note that she was now using _we_ instead of _I_. "We do our best to find Chaplain Wade."

"I will talk to Monique again in the morning."

Tony nodded. "We should sleep."

"I do not think that is likely."

"Roll over," he told her.

To his surprise, she did, rolling to face the door without asking why. He settled his hand on her hip, but she scooted back so that she was flush against him, and his arm fell around her waist. He kissed the top of her head, letting his lips rest against her hair, and eventually they both drifted off to sleep.


End file.
